


Call It Catharsis

by SilviaKundera



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilviaKundera/pseuds/SilviaKundera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I find a myriad of ways to make Eduardo’s least favorite trip to Palo Alto even worse. Predictably, this involves a lot of Sean Parker. (Eduardo POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call It Catharsis

After Mark, after 0.03%, after almost striking his first human being, after losing his part in their company, what he’d thought they were building _together_ , Eduardo goes for a drink. He _needs it_ , so he has two, then another, balancing it with a half-eaten dinner. And then he stops back at the house to pick up a light summer coat he’d left on his last trip.

He doesn’t really need that jacket but he wants it, doesn’t want to leave any trace of himself here in this place. But no one’s at the house, maybe most of them don’t even live there anymore, or they’re all at the office he’s just left, an hour or—two, two and a half hours ago. And he can’t wait, he won’t. He feels, in this instant, that he’ll never want to visit the whole of Northern California ever again. He feels like making that promise, and keeping it.

It’s on the way back to the freeway, the taxi cutting through some side streets, that he sees Sean Parker’s car – it’s unmistakably Sean’s, though he’d seen it only once. There’s that stupid bumper sticker and sharp indent on the driver side door. It’s parked in front of a sorority house (unsurprising) and next to a police car (even less so). He can see flashlights sweeping the next house down.

He doesn’t, honestly, intend to tell the driver to stop when he feels the words come out of his mouth. But then he picks up his phone, and dials, and curses when he pictures Parker frowning at his number on the screen, at whatever patronizing little nickname that had likely been paired with it.

He’s cursing when he tells the driver to wait and storms up to the door and straight through, not bothering to try pounding on it over the racket inside.

It’s equally pointless to yell Sean’s name in the crowd, so he makes his way through the rooms until the motherfucker is in front of him, red eyed and high as fuck, with what looks like coke on some co-ed’s stomach and between her tits.

Naturally, he reacts to this by screaming, "Are you insane?", with some understandable flailing, and when Sean’s eyes dart up to him, startled and wide, he manages to make it quieter but more firm and deliberate. "Cops are right next door, I am not kidding."

Which is when they both hear the volume drop ominously the next room over, rush to brush the evidence off the girl’s stomach, and then turn to greet some very unamused police officers.

Because that’s how Eduardo’s life works out.

*

"You are a goddamned maniac," Sean says, with real admiration, as they’re tucked into back of a police vehicle.

Eduardo decides to just rest his head in his hands for a while. "Please shut the fuck up."

*

It takes quite some time to be booked, it turns out, and then when they get an option for a call Sean says, "We—" and actually stutters, for once knocked completely out of his element. "We need to tell Mark."

" _You_ need to tell Mark," Eduardo interjects, a little snidely, but he thinks he’s earned that.

"Come on, Saverin, you know he wouldn’t—" Sean starts, and Eduardo cuts him off to the quick with,

"I really don’t."

Which Sean looks like he’d like to protest further -- but as he’s a little late to whole coming apart at the seams deal, he won’t reach that icy calm bottom any time soon. Eduardo’s become an intimate resident.

Eduardo states, simply, "We have come to a point where you are going to have accept that I _do_ have some contacts that are infinitely superior to yours," and takes the phone from Sean’s hand.

This would be where he calls the law firm his father has on retainer and confirms that they’ll be in contact with his father, who will have a friend that can put a word in with the assistant district attorney.

He always has a friend. This is what his father does.

*

Later, when they’re waiting on a splinter ridden bench, Sean says, sheepishly, "So I was a little rude," rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

"Let’s not talk about it," Eduardo says, ignoring the twinge in his stomach.

"Do you know how _long_ it will take before we get bailed out?"

"Let’s find out in silence."

*

"I can’t believe you came for me," Sean bursts out, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"And I’ve been regretting it every minute since."

"No, I’m serious," Sean says in a completely alien tone that might be something approaching sincerity, "that was amazing."

"It didn’t do any good," Eduardo points out, which Sean digests for a second before proclaiming,

"Well, it’s the thought that counts."

This earns him a skeptical look, as Eduardo has deep suspicions that this is a belief Sean has never, _ever_ held, so Sean ventures, "I appreciate the moral support," which is slightly more believable.

"I think you mean _immoral_ support."

"That was totally moral," objects Sean. "You’re like my knight in shining armor. But in a cheap suit."

"I can still hit you in here."

"Those dudes would separate us and then you couldn’t _protect me_."

And because Sean (like always, and this is why he’s a complete and utter asshole) is a little right, the only reply Eduardo manages is, "Don’t make me test that theory."

*

"It was possibly a little extreme," Sean finally blurts out a while later, ruining a game of I-Spy that had been Eduardo’s mostly sarcastic suggestion, not having actually played it before. "The dickishness."

"Don’t," Eduardo snaps. He doesn’t want to hear it, he _can’t_ , not from the wrong person.

"He probably wouldn’t have done it if not for the money," Sean adds, after they’ve been quiet a bit, just shifting their weight around.

Like the thought was going to make him feel oh so much better. "Well then, _that’s_ a relief."

Sean shoots him this hurt look, which is ridiculous, but Eduardo doesn’t know what Mark said to him on the phone, only that it stripped off another layer of gloss and he’s been curling into himself a bit since.

They play another round of I-Spy, and then Word Chain, and then Sean says, casually, "Look, I’m not fucking him or anything."

"Don’t do me any favors."

Sean hisses, aghast, startling Eduardo into banging his elbow. "Are you seriously going to sit there in a straight up real life police station after _being arrested with me_ for possession and deny you didn’t want a taste of Zuckerberg’s dick?"

"Just because Mark’s now dubbed you useless as well doesn’t mean I’ve adopted you," Eduardo says sharply, rubbing his elbow, and tries to hates himself for noticing the flinch in Sean’s eyes, for somewhat, a little, giving a shit. Except he’s seen the alternative tonight and he doesn’t want to be that person, ever, who just sits there, not moved to action at another’s pain.

So he leans his head back against the wall, slaps a hand over face, and takes a deep breath.

"Maybe I wanted some dick," he admits, and allows himself a bittersweet smile at Sean’s cackle.

*

It’s 9 am when they leave the station, squinting at the natural sunlight and bumping into each other, trash bins, and helpful metal signs directed at more law-abiding citizens.

A desperate, near all-consuming cry for sleep is buzzing in his brain and weighing down his feet. He feels strongly that he might actually be capable of shanking someone for a bed, except then he’d have to go back in there, and to this Sean whole-heartedly agrees.

As his next thought is the generous notion that this means Sean cannot be _all_ bad, when Eduardo sees Mark he quite logically assumes that he’s imagined him.

Mark’s shoulders are hunched over, neckline dragged down by hands in his pockets. He’s still there when Eduardo pokes him and says, dully, "I thought it would be Dustin."

"No. I just—" Mark appears to have no idea what he’s doing there, so that makes two of them. "I wanted to."

"You wanted to," Eduardo echoes.

Mark nods in that confident, economical way that used to make Eduardo want to climb into his lap and kiss him slow and deep, even in the face of almost-certain chair related injuries, and now makes him want to _still_ do that, too, but also creates a sharp desire to gouge out Mark’s too bright eyes after. "It was a relatively straightforward process," he says, "I have that kind of money in my account now. Just a matter of confirming my identity with the bank."

Mark’s gaze jumps towards Sean and then back again, tone turning more clipped, like that should even be possible. "Your removal from the masthead is a lucky break for us. Sean’s involvement will be bad enough."

It’s too much to deal with after spending that many hours keyed up on adrenaline and packed like a sardine onto some profoundly uncomfortable furniture. He’s been fucking _hazed_ and accused, publically, of animal cruelty, and but it wasn’t like actual real life, with soul chilling real life consequences. If Palo Alto is a picture of life after college, Eduardo should start thinking of going for his Masters.

"Is that really Mark?" Sean faux-whispers loudly in his ear, and Eduardo replies, conversationally, "Do you think I look like PhD material?"

Mark is forcing out, stilted, "You can come to my place, I have a—"

When Sean cuts him off, "Nah, he’s coming to mine."

Not that he asked, of course, but as Eduardo had assumed he had a place to stay, assuming—certain things, well, then he hadn’t planned for a hotel room. And as there’s no way in hell Eduardo’s going anywhere with Mark, _ever again_ , he jumps in, flatly,

"That’s right, I am."

*

Mark shows up with bagels at noon and lets himself in.

He’s watching Eduardo’s twitching, uncomfortably rousing body when Eduardo opens his eyes and starts violently, rolling off his side of the bed.

(The couch was—unmentionable. There were things on that couch that he still wishes he could unsee.)

"Did you know you _kick_ , you _fucker_ ," he says darkly, pulling himself up with his hands to reach across the mattress and shove at Sean’s back, receiving a pained groan in return.

"I brought bagels," Mark says and holds up a plain white bag.

"He’s stupid in love with you," Sean informs them.

It’s muffled by a face full of comforter but clear enough that he can see Mark flinch as he absorbs the hit himself. It knocks the wind out of him, and he honestly, embarrassingly, gasps.

"Great, I can always look more pathetic, why stop now," Eduardo sighs at the same time as Mark says, "I think it’s safe to say that recent events have rendered my feelings irrelevant," upon which the wind he thought had been knocked out crawls up to twist around his heart and _lurches_.

"oh god," Eduardo says sickly, "that makes it even _worse_ ," and – when Mark gives him that look like ‘I am familiar with all of those words but I have no idea what you’re saying' - "I can’t be here."

"Do I have to come with you now?" Sean moans piteously from his precarious, prone position on the edge of the bed.

" _No_ ," he says, horrified.

And then waits at the curb for Sean to stumble out, also still in yesterday’s clothes but clutching two fresh t-shirts. There are sunglasses over his eyes and he looks like he slept in a ditch.

Eduardo really, sincerely, does not want to look in a mirror.

Sean rubs at an eye, pushing a thumb up under his glasses, and then uses the hand to crack his neck. "I feel like I need a cigarette now. And I don’t even smoke."

For some reason this feels very apt. Fuck, maybe he needs a cigarette too. He needs _something_. And he definitely needs to not be still standing there when Mark makes his exit.

"Let’s go buy a pack," Eduardo suggests.

"I have asthma."

"I’m in love with a borderline sociopath."

"Just one," Sean says.

*

"You didn’t actually have to come with me," Eduardo clarifies after they've finished coughing.

"Holy fuck, now I want to die _even more_ ," Sean shares, flipping the shirts onto a neighbor’s fence in order to take a pull from his inhaler and brace his hands on his knees for moment. Then he says, "You totally adopted me, shut up," tucking his jacket between his knees and pulling his shirt over his head to switch it out with a clean one.

He tosses Eduardo’s over. It’s white with green lettering that says _netaddress.usa.net_ and on the back reads,

 _EMAIL THAT HUNTS YOU DOWN  
LIKE THE ANIMAL YOU ARE_.

"Miss Under 21 was an intern. I’m probably fired," Sean adds. "So it’s not like that was a conversation I was looking forward to."

Eduardo hasn’t even opened his mouth (yet), when Sean points a finger between his eyes. "Don’t say it."

*

Mark finds them at The Toasted Apple inhaling stale coffee and sandwiches with thick, sliced bread.

Since it’s the only diner in four blocks and they didn’t take the car, this is not a particularly impressive feat. Though you wouldn’t know it from his face.

"You might be fired," he tells Sean, who shoots Eduardo a glance that says ‘I told you!’ (only with five more exclamation marks).

"Thiel is pissed," he explains to Eduardo, like it’s any of his fucking business anymore.

"He’s a dick," Sean proclaims decisively. "Who is Eduardo Saverin? What is that?"

"Right," Mark says with facetious twist to his face, like that was some sort of secret code, and the translation was giving Mark the same feelings he had when someone wanted to discuss a letter from the Winklevosses.

"What?" Sean challenges. "We’re criminals. We’ve entered a life of crime together. He’s part of my posse. We’re going to start an underground cartel of ex-Facebook employees."

It turns out to be a surprisingly pleasant feeling to see someone else faced with Sean Parker’s smug, goading grin, patently outmaneuvered and unable to do anything about it but fume.

As Eduardo needs whatever vague sources of contentment he can get at this point, it does not feel like _complete_ opposite day to enjoy the sight of Sean leaning back in his chair, by all appearances not intimidated in the least at the thought of staring down his recently showered CEO in a Counting Crows t-shirt that turned out to be sporting a hole in the armpit.

"If you wanted in, you should have faced a Schedule II substance felony charge. We met this hooker with a very interesting life story. Eduardo explained to him that he could charge more than $50 for a blowjob and I told him about this thing my second ex did with her tongue. It was a constructive evening."

Mark turns to Eduardo and says, "Can we talk," apparently having decided that his best bet is to ignore the provocation, which Eduardo could have told him wasn’t going to work.

Sean takes a loud slurp of his coffee. "If I’m fired, I don’t think you can make me leave."

"I didn’t say you were fired," Mark retorts, jaw flexing. "I said you _might_ be fired, and I didn’t ask you to leave out of courtesy for Wardo, who for some asinine reason might require your presence." Mark’s face tightens further. "As he has thus far seemed to prefer it."

As this last comment has a disbelieving, accusative tone, and all accusations should be coming from his side of the table, thank you very much, Eduardo responds, "Slim competition."

"I deserved that," Mark concedes, which almost makes Eduardo, literally, topple his chair (mostly because he was keeping balance by wrapping his feet around the legs of the table, and shock made them limp).

He straightens himself and focuses on returning his heart rate to normal. Deep, even breaths and all that.

Mark’s watching him, which has always been at turns addictive and unsettling.

Eduardo narrows his eyes. "I spent a morning in Sean Parker’s bed."

" _No one_ deserves that," commiserates Mark, with all due seriousness.

"I will have you know," Sean says, "those are 600 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets."

Eduardo scoffs, "When did you last wash your pillows?" but Sean smirks at him knowingly and says,

"Guess you didn’t get a good look at that hooker’s golden locks, pal. We’re grabbing some lice-be-gone after I finish my turkey and mayo. Just in case."

"You sat on the bed, didn’t you?" Eduardo conjectures from the look on Mark’s face.

*

Mark hovers next to the bathtub where Eduardo and Sean are already crouched, hair mashed with shampoo.

"I don’t itch," he protests peevishly, but Eduardo is adamant. The consequences of failure are too fucking gross.

"Get over here, no chances," he says, and fights not to automatically make room at his side.

It’s hard to remember that Eduardo is supposed to be completely disgusted with him when Mark is being so Mark, and only 18 hours ago Mark was his best friend in the world, who he wanted to make out with and maybe even fuck his ass, though he’d never done that before. That’s a lot of emotional and mental adjustment to work through for someone who’s sputtering under a detached shower head with you.

"FYI," Sean says thickly, "If you open your eyes, it feels like acid eating through your retinas."

"Noted," Mark croaks.

*

They return to the bedroom to surround the theoretical point of infection, and it seems like a good plan to mostly walk around the perimeter, peering suspiciously, because this way they won’t have to, you know, talk to each other. And as a secondary personal benefit, Eduardo can keep a small amount of the lining in his stomach.

He is going to absolutely look up how young you have to be to develop ulcers, right after he climbs out of this hell hole that has become his life and/or sleeps for a week.

"Do we just, uh, spray Raid on the sheets?" Eduardo says, tugging at the towel around his neck, and they stare at the mattress some more before coming to a unanimous decision that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Sean goes to the sink to retrieve a couple large trash bags, which Mark seems to take as a cue to talk about Facebook’s search feature until Eduardo walks to the other side of the room to pretend to examine the clock that he could read perfectly well from where he’d been standing.

Pointless, and arguably immature, this small act of defiance. But it’s appallingly simple: Eduardo can’t look at him. Not like he’s the boy who drags Eduardo out of parties, and lets him barge in without knocking, and shoots him half-smiles. Not like he’s _Mark_ , the boy Eduardo had always believed was better than this, whose ability to feel and to feel _for_ people Eduardo once would have defended perhaps not to the death, but almost certainly fists and definitely some very strong language.

They stuff the sheets and pillows as Sean holds open the garbage bags and then grab ahold of the mattress, upending it with Mark and Eduardo at the back and Sean at the front, pushing and pulling it forward.

It takes all three of them to carry mattress out the front door, but they’ve successfully plopped it onto the sidewalk when Sean wipes his forehead and ventures, "Fuck, you think we need to wash our hair again?"

"Don’t say that," Eduardo pleads, apparently still a believer in mercy.

*

Mark's on his phone for a good ten minutes as Eduardo tosses Sean's closet for two beach towels to spread over the couch. They're old and they're worn but it's workable, so he throws himself down on them and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling while Mark informs them that Chris is dealing with Sean's not-a-date. Chris will also have to speak to someone at Stanford, Mark says, and Sean makes a good attempt at appearing penitent before he gives up and collapses against the wall.

When Mark attempts to demand his attention, Sean sensibly throws his wallet at him. Eduardo considers raising a fist in solidarity, but he's trying to be unconscious.

"Christ, I cannot _even_ right now. Can you just apologize for being a diabolical, power-hungry mastermind, agree to pay for our lawyer fees, as well as a sizable donation to some guy Eduardo will get you the name of, and then just cuddle him or whatever? And do not tell me you don't do cuddling. That right there is a man who _needs_ to be cuddled."

Eduardo feels that he should maybe say something here, but that sounds like it would take a lot of energy.

So he completely understands when Sean follows up this outburst by sinking to the floor, mumbling, "Okay, I'm going to go lie down now. On box springs or the carpet," clearly beyond caring.

Mark pauses, eyes raking over Eduardo's, okay, slightly shivering frame.

He's flown across the country, had his heart broken, spent the night in lockup with jetlag, hasn't really bathed yet, might still have cocaine residue on his person, is wearing a geek-T with dress slacks and $300 shoes, and his head smells like turpentine.

Mark appears to take all this in and says, solemnly, "I will cuddle the fuck out of you."

And though obviously the mature, healthy thing to do would be to refuse, because he _should_ absolutely, positively refuse -- Sean is yet again aggravatingly correct. He's had a very bad no good day. He would like to be held by the love of his life now.

"We have things to discuss, Mark," he says weakly, allowing himself to be scooted over, an arm to be slung around his back. Allowing himself to rub his face into a sweater than smells like fabric softener, then press it into warm neck skin. "Discussions will be had."

"After the cuddles," Mark says, tangling their legs together and curling his head down to press his mouth, just once, at the corner of each of Eduardo's squeezed shut eyes.

 

/end


End file.
